


Of Camp & Kids & Moonlit Nights

by oredatte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Marauders' Era, Non-Graphic Smut, Recreational Drug Use, Remus and Sirius are Way More Competitive than they need to be, Sexual Tension, ah to be young and obsessed with your handsome rival, its just weed tho, theyre in uni but they still act like goofy kids. gotta love em
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 09:50:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16532231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oredatte/pseuds/oredatte
Summary: Sirius Black is a camp counselor at Hogwarts' summer camp as punishment for the Incident Which Must Not Be Named, and he's (of course) stuck sharing a cabin with the one man who's taller than him AND can beat him at egg-in-cup racing.It doesn't help that said man is attractive and infuriating in equal parts. This will be one long summer if Remus Lupin has anything to say about it.





	Of Camp & Kids & Moonlit Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: We’re both ‘team leaders’ at a summer camp for little people and you may be hot but goddammit my collection of twelve-year-olds are going to beat yours into the dust (from ‘Au ideas for your OTP’ by @SpiritOwl765 on Wattpad)
> 
> i had a lot of fun with this! i actually made an ao3 account just to post this, lmao. this was originally posted november 2018 and was updated in december 2018 after i had a month to ruminate. i found this prompt when looking for writing ideas and it just seemed so fun that i had to write it!
> 
> enjoy :))

Your name is Sirius Black and you’ve been slighted by your best mate. James Potter, arrogant arsehole and girl lover extraordinaire, has abandoned you in your greatest time of need. You’d be more upset with him if the current situation wasn’t entirely your fault, which it is. You just hoped he’d be a better friend and take the fall alongside you. It’s hard to admit, but you understand why he didn’t.

What you did was really,  _really_ bad, according to the university, anyway.

Honestly, you didn’t mean for the git to almost die. It just sort of… happened like that. Also, he didn’t even die, so what’s the big deal anyway? All of this hullabaloo is for nothing, in your Moste Ancient and Noble opinion.

You may or may not have tricked a certain greasy snake into drinking some tea with stevia in it instead of sugar, knowing he was allergic to it, but you didn’t think he was  _that_  allergic. You just thought it’d make him sneeze a lot or something funny like that. You’ve never heard of anyone going into anaphylactic shock in response to fucking  _stevia_ , it’s not like you fed him peanuts! Either way, if he didn’t have his epi-pen in his bag, and if your little brother wasn’t allergic to peanuts, Snape would be dead. You only knew how to administer the medicine properly because of Regulus.

All the staff at your fancy university were appalled, of course, and you spent over two weeks suspended from classes and were threatened with expulsion. The only reason you weren’t expelled was a double edge sword called your family—the Blacks are old, rich, aristocratic, and they donate a significant sum of money to Hogwarts every year.

You stayed in school by the skin of your teeth.

But, they didn’t let you off the hook after just two weeks of suspension, oh no! You had to ‘learn from your mistakes’ and ‘make amends’ and ‘be a better role model’ and whatever else they said during that lecture you didn’t listen to. It all seemed like a bunch of nonsense to you, of course, but you still couldn’t wriggle out of what the headmaster had planned.

“Mr. Black,” Said Dumbledore, fingers tented in front of him and eyes sparkling beneath his half-moon spectacles, “You will be spending your summer here, as a counselor for our Wonders of Learning camp. I suspect you’ll enjoy it.” You told him you doubted it, and you meant it—you’re 20 years old, you have  _way_  better things to do with your summer.

That’s how you ended up here, on campus, on the first day of what should be your pre-Junior year summer vacation.  You basically went straight from finals into _this_ bullshit. The sun is high in the sky and you already feel like you’re melting, once again lamenting the fact that while this camp is on Hogwarts property, it’s an ‘outdoor and sports’ camp, so you’ll be staying in the shitty cabins by the soccer fields.

Why is an outdoor and sports camp called ‘Wonder of Learning’ anyway? And why do you have to sleep in the cabins and be outside all day, when your dorm is literally just up the hill?

The sun is  _not_ your friend. You glare at her through your reflective sunglasses, and for some reason, it feels like she’s laughing at you. Maybe she should be. This is all your own fault, anyway.

As you stand there staring at the sky, the black car that dropped you off zooms away. Looking down, you see that the chauffer haphazardly tossed your duffel bag and suitcase into the dirt next to you while you weren’t looking, and you sigh heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. You knew your parents weren’t happy with you, but you know it’s bad when even the help treats you like shit.

You fish a crumpled sheet of paper out of your pocket, scanning it to find what cabin number you’ll be staying in, intent on dropping off all your junk. As a counselor, you’re supposed to arrive early, but you’re even earlier than that. The ‘team leader’ meeting isn’t until 10:30am, and a quick glance at your watch tells you its barely 9:45. Guess you’ll use the time to claim your half of the cabin and explore the grounds—you’ve done your fair share of wandering around Hogwarts, but you and James tend to stay inside, so the football fields and surroundings woods are practically unknown to you.

Cabin 5 looks the same as all the other counselor cabins, you guess. It’s bigger and better built than the ones the kids will be staying in, but it’s certainly nothing to write home about, especially considering it doesn't have AC and you have to share. You grew up rich—you’ve  _never_ had to share.

The door squeaks when you shove it open with your shoulder, startling the tall figure hunched over the bed on the right. It’s so early that you’re nothing short of shocked to see somebody already in here. The mystery person turns, and your eyes narrow when you see who it is. God, it’s this guy, of  _fucking_ course it’s this guy. Why wouldn't it be this guy? 

Did Dumbledore do this on purpose? He probably did.

Skinny Santa’s gonna get it the next time you see him. You don’t care if he’s the headmaster, he always does shit like this to you and you’re sick of it.

Remus Lupin narrows his eyes back at you and stands up, towering over you in a way that makes your chest tight. “Black,” He says blankly in what you guess is a greeting, though he evidently isn’t trying very hard. He looks like he wants to say more, but he doesn't, just watching you with molten eyes.

“Lupin,” You reply icily, flicking your long hair over your shoulder, “Fancy seeing you here.”

He grunts at you but says nothing more, turning back to his duffel bag with a dismissive breath, continuing to unpack his clothes and whatever other bullshit he brought. You huff air though your nose and do the same, dragging your bags into the cabin a little more forcefully than is necessary.

Now, realistically, you wouldn’t say you hate this guy. In a different world, you might’ve even been his friend. He’s quick as a whip and has such a dry sense of humor you’re surprised he hasn’t died of desiccation, and a literature major to boot, so you know he’s well-read. He’s also kind of a tightass, though, and is best friends with Lily Evans, James’ number one love interest/enemy. James is _obsessed_ with her, and annoys her to the point the she (and Lupin) will curse and throw textbooks on sight. It’s kind of sad.

Seeing as you and James are closer than brothers, this treatment extends to you, of course. They lob insults and projectiles like you’re the devil himself.

For some reason, it hurts more when you get snuffed by Lupin than it does with Evans.

You couldn’t give less of a shit about Evans, so you avoid her, but sometimes you seek out Lupin just to hear what creative, overly-complex insult he has in store for you. They’re always unique, always way cleverer than they have any right to be, and it’s hard not to laugh along. It’d be a game if it didn’t sting.

The two of you spend the morning pointedly ignoring each other, which suits you just fine, you suppose. It’s tense and awkward, but honestly, you’re not even sure if talking to him would actually be any better. He’s kind of a tough nut to crack. After ten minutes, you stalk out of the cabin, wandering around the grounds until your watch says 10:15.

When you arrive back at your cabin, Lupin emerges and trudges to the mess hall in silence. You follow him. Some of the other counselors are there already, and you groan when you see Evans and Xenophilius Lovegood chatting happily at one of the tables. Lupin makes beeline for those two, without a word to you, and gingerly sits between them. You look around, sighing when you only recognize one other person from your class, and go over to sit with Peter Pettigrew, the little weasel.

He squeaks a greeting at you and you grunt back, resting your chin in your hand as you take in the interior of the building. It’s set up like a medieval dining hall, with four long tables and one shorter one at the head, all covered in different colored plastic tablecloths. It’s very summer camp-y, and you wonder if Dumbledore picked this all out himself. He seems the type.

As soon as you think of him, the man himself appears as if by magic, wearing a velvety tracksuit and a rainbow bandana. He looks ready to play some sports, but you know full well he’ll disappear as soon as he can.

“Welcome, welcome!” He booms as he sweeps into the room, arms open wide as he addresses all the counselors, “As I’m sure you all noticed, this great hall of ours has already been partially decorated. It is not finished, though, and thus I am enlisting all of you to help decorate! But before we get to that, I’m going to divide you all into teams, because as some of you know, this camp is all about the wonders of cultivating healthy competition and learning sportsmanship! Now, would Lily Evans, Antonin Dolohov, Xenophilius Lovegood, and Amos Diggory please come up to the stage?”

The four of them join Dumbledore on the platform, standing on either side of him as he continues, “Now, these four are veteran counselors, so they will be your ‘Heads of House.’ The rest of you will be placed in one of their houses, and for the duration of camp, your house will be like your family! At the end of camp, depending on what team wins the most challenges, there will be one house crowned champion, and all its counselors and students will be rewarded with a secret surprise. This will be determined using a point system, but beware—if you or any of your students are caught breaking any rules, the heads of house have the authority to deduct points from your houses. Best of luck to everyone!

“Oh, also, each house has its own name, patron animal, and color scheme that I’ve already selected, and you will be decorating this great hall of ours with that in mind! I’ve here a list of who is in which house, and I will leave it to the heads to gather their teams. Have fun everyone!” Dumbledore says gaily, waving his farewells as he sweeps back out the door. That’s very on-brand for him—to swoop in, drop some integral information, and then leave as soon as his speech is done. It’s kind of annoying.

You figure you won’t see him again until the end of camp two months from now.

Scrunching your nose, you wonder what house you’ll be put in, because you really can’t stand most of the heads of house. Diggory is okay, he’s just kind of a pushover. Dolohov is a huge, cheating jerk, and you’d rather be as far away from him as possible. Lovegood is an airhead and an idiot that somehow manages to outscore you on  _everything_ , and you don’t think you could be on his team without throttling the shit out of him. Evans is unbelievably snooty and has a short temper, and the two of you always butt heads, so she’d probably be your worst-case scenario. You cross your fingers and hope for Diggory. He seems to be the lesser of four evils.

When Evans approaches you, you suddenly remember that you’re here as  _punishment_.

“Am I with you?” You ask defeatedly, sighing when she nods. You haul yourself up and join her little group in the corner, groaning internally when you see Lupin watching you disinterestedly, so you cross your arms and lean against the wall pseudo-casually.

Once she finishes gathering her team, Evans addresses the group with a less snooty tone than you’re used to hearing from her, “Okay everyone, our house is called Gryffindor. Not sure where the name came from, but it’s Dumbledore, so it’s probably from some obscure novel or children’s show. Our colors are red and gold, and our animal is a lion! I think it could be a lot of fun, especially considering that Dolohov’s team is called Slytherin and they have a snake as their mascot. We got the best deal.”

You’ll give her that one. You’d rather not have a snake as your patron animal—those things freak you out. Why don’t they have legs? They should have legs. You’re going to petition God to get them some legs.

Gryffindor house includes four counselors: you, Lupin, Pettigrew, and Frank Longbottom. You’re familiar with everyone, and on decent terms with Frank and Peter, so you guess it could be a lot worse. Lupin and Evans will definitely be pains in your ass, though.

She goes over the itinerary for the week, what the rules are, and what she expects from each of you. You pay just enough attention to not look like an asshole in front of all the kids, but nothing more than that. It’s all pretty basic summer camp stuff, you guess, but you never actually went to summer camp as a kid. Your parents would just dump you at your Uncle Alphard’s place for every break, even though he was old as shit and had no business looking after children. All you know about camp came from films, usually slasher flicks or teen dramas, but you're not worried.

Breakfast is at 8, activities start at 9:30, lunch is at 1, etc, etc. It shouldn’t be too hard.

Evans and Longbottom brainstorm decoration ideas while you and Peter chat, with Lupin going over to the Tupperware bins in the corner to collect all the art supplies. You try not to watch Lupin’s back and arm muscles flex as he lifts the heavy box.

Now, you’re technically a business major, but you’ve been taking art classes on the DL for the last two years at uni. So, when you see the set of charcoals in the bin, you grab them immediately, pointedly ignoring Lupin’s half-hearted grunt of protest. You also snag a large strip of red construction paper and squirrel away your spoils in an empty corner, sprawling out on the floor to draw. When you glance back at Evans, she’s eyeing you suspiciously, and you raise a challenging eyebrow at her. Does she really want to start something on the first day? She closes her eyes, purses her lips for a long moment, and then shakes her head.

Guess she won’t start something on day one. Smart girl.

She and the others leave you to it, thank god. The kids are due to arrive at 2pm, and you’ve already unpacked and snooped around the grounds, so you can focus on your drawing until then. You’re sketching a lion’s head, and as soon as the first piece of charcoal touches the paper, you know it’s gonna be a good one. These charcoals are way nicer than they have any right being, and you vaguely wonder where Dumbledore got them.

At 1, you take a lunch break with everyone, sitting at the Gryffindor table with your house. You’re across from Lupin, somehow, and it's hard to focus on eating when his face is so freckled and sculpted. He reminds you of a Michelangelo statue and you clench your teeth so hard you hear something pop in your jaw.

You do a really bad job of not eavesdropping as he chats idly with Frank, who’s sitting beside him. “Yeah, I’m on the uni’s track team and coach a team of elementary schoolers,” He says conversationally as he chews his sandwich, “So if there’s any running-based challenges, I’ll have those in the bag.” You snort way louder than you meant to, and his head snaps up to glare at you. “Oh yeah, Black? Think that’s funny, do you?”

“I just can’t imagine you winning anything,” You snort again, laughing when Lupin wryly narrows his eyes at you, “After all, you can’t seem to beat me at… er, well, anything.” It’s a bit mean but not entirely unfounded—your GPA is higher than his and you’ve beaten him in every art competition you’ve bothered to participate in.

“That’s because of those fancy coattails you’re riding, Black. If you’re not careful, you’ll fall right off,” He says dismissively, no longer deigning you worthy of his attention, which makes you grind your teeth. He’s not off-base and you hate that.

“That won’t help me here, will it, Lupin? Are you ready to be beaten fair and fuckin’ square?”

He grins wolfishly at you, “Are you challenging me? Is that what this is? Please tell me that’s what this is.”

“It’ll be more of a cakewalk than a challenge, but yeah, I reckon so.”

“Oh, you’ve no idea what you’re walking into, do you, Black? I’ll kill you,” He laughs loudly, throwing his head back and exposing the golden column of his neck, and you can’t stand it. You make a point to gobble up your sandwich as quickly as you can without choking, and stalk back your drawing with your eyebrows furrowed. You can hear him fall back into easy conversation with Frank and it just annoys you even more.

You throw yourself into the portrait, and when you’re done, it’s hard to tell if there’s more charcoal on you or the paper.

Evans gasps when she sees your finished lion, and you smile as smugly as you can at Lupin over her shoulder. He rolls his eyes. You grind your teeth. Evans tapes your drawing to the wall above her seat at the heads of house table, saying she wants everyone else to see it and know how amazing Gryffindor is, and it’s hard to not feel  _way_  too good about yourself.

Honestly, it makes you feel warm to hear your work genuinely praised. You know Lupin was taking the piss when he said you were riding coattails, but you’ve always worried that the art judges selected your work out of fear, thinking the Black family would punish those who allowed their son to lose.

Joke’s on those guys, your parents hate your art so much they burned all your sketchbooks.

When the kids arrive, you find yourself swept up in all the excitement, fighting to keep a grin off your face as they bounce around the mess hall. You meet a bunch of parents and shake a bunch of hands, and soon enough you have your own little team of 6 kids. They’ve all just finished the last year of primary school, so they’re between 10 and 12 years old, and you immediately love them. You’ve always had a soft spot for kids, not that you’d tell anyone that. You've got an image to maintain.

After the meet-and-greet, you walk your chatty kids to their cabins. Each cabin holds 3 children, so you deliver the boys to number 12 and the girls to number 13, and tell them to meet back in the mess hall at 3:30 for the first activity. They’re all chittering excitedly, and you leave them with a goofy smile on your face. This whole counselor thing might not be so bad.

You swing by your cabin to pick up the one sketchbook you managed to hide from your parents, and groan when you see Lupin inside, lounging on his cot with a book in his hands. His tawny hair is splayed gently over his pillow, and you find yourself wondering if it’s soft. You shake your head and nab your sketchbook without acknowledging him, slinking outside and pushing thoughts of amber eyes and tight shorts to the back of your mind, shuffling back into the mess hall to dig through the art supplies. You’ve already got charcoals, but you’d love some good colored pencils.

Checking your watch, you’re relieved to note you’ve got almost 45 minutes to yourself. You walk towards the lake and settle on the bank, intent on sketching the far shore, curling in on yourself to get comfy. You haven’t done any nature drawing since your first year of art class, so this will be good practice for you.

Time passes lazily, like molasses, and soon enough the alarm on your watch goes off.

You collect your things and jog back to the cabin, dumping it all on your bed before jogging to the mess hall. Luckily, you’re still a few minutes early, so Evans doesn’t have enough cause to chew you out (even though she looks like she _really_ wants to).

The four heads of house take turns explaining the itinerary to the kids, and you have to nudge a few of yours to make sure they’re paying attention, despite you not paying attention yourself. To the children’s delight, the first activity is Capture the Flag—a bonafide summer camp staple, you think. Each team will compete, and their house will get 5 points for every flag collected, with the winning team earning an additional 5 points on top of their sum.

Each child is given a bandana in the color of their house to tie around their heads, and if they get captured by a student from another house, they have to go to ‘jail’ in the mess hall. Students can be broken out of ‘jail’ by at least two other members of their house, but you don’t worry about that. None of your kids are getting jailed.

The sun is still high in the sky, so the first half-hour is spent inside, making your flags. You help your kids cut out a square of red fabric, letting them use fabric paint and glitter to decorate it however they wish. Watching them, you practice their names in your head, not wanting to call them the wrong name and look like a huge arsehole.

“We need a team name!” One boy with flaming red hair, Ron, you think, asserts, “It has to be something cool.”

“Oh! We could be the pirates!” Exclaims one of the girls, with a long black braid and dark skin, Parvati, if you remember correctly.

Another boy, with glasses and messy hair that remind you of James, huffs, “No, that’s boring. We can find something better.” His name is Harry, which suits him particularly well because that’s what James always says he’ll name his son, when he gets Evans to marry him.

Those three and your other three students—Dean, Lavender, and Katie—immediately start arguing about a team name. You think for a second, then remember what you and James used to call yourselves when you were kids, and say, “What about the Marauders?”

When you’re met with 6 huge grins, you figure you did a pretty good job.

The finished flag is a glittery mess with ‘Maraudors’ written on it, even though you spelled it out for them five times. It’s honestly kind of endearing, though, and the seven of you wander out into the woods to find a good place to stash it. As a counselor, you’re not allowed to actually capture other flags yourself, so you decide to do reconnaissance for the team instead.

You tell your kids that in order to really win, you have to capture Lupin’s team’s flag. Apparently, they’ve called themselves ‘Dumbledore’s Army,’ which is stupid, and have colored their flag camo to blend in with the trees. They can’t fool the Marauders, though—Ron’s sister Ginny is on Lupin’s team, and she told her brother they’re planning to hide it near the lake. You’re not sure if that’s  _actually_  cheating, because you didn’t ask Ron to ask her. Who knows.

Honestly, you’re not sure if you’re even allowed to capture flags from your own house. You figure Evans will ream you after if you’re not.

Play starts at 4:15 on the dot, so you keep a close eye on your watch as the 7 of you scramble around in the woods, trying to pick a good spot to conceal your flag. Lavender and Dean keep watch near the hollow tree you shove the flag into, and you teach them a cool birdcall to signal if anyone comes too close. Ron and Harry are sweeping one half of the grounds, Parvati and Katie are sweeping the other half, and you’re floating between the two to deliver any intrigue.

It’s kind of a perfect plan.

In the end, you don’t find Lupin’s flag, but your team  _does_  win, so you shoot Lupin a very smug grin. He raises an eyebrow at you and holds up your glittery Maraudors flag, making you and every single one of your kids gasp in unison. How the hell did he manage that? You look at Lavender and Dean, who are staring bug-eyed at the flag in his hand, and realize just how much of a threat Lupin is.

“I knew you’d aim for the most flags,” He says flippantly, “And since we’re in the same house, I figured I’d let you have that, we’ll benefit from more points too. But I also knew you’d come for my flag, so I made sure we got yours first. Nice win, mate.”

He’s toying with you and you  _hate_ it, you feel so small and worthless.

Your kids all groan around you and you see red. God, what an arrogant douche, doing that in front of them like that. Who cares if he’s hot, your kids are going to beat the  _shit_ out of his kids if you have anything to say about it.

Dinner is tense for you and you only. Lupin is laughing with his kids, not paying you any mind, and watching him be handsome and carefree is just making you angrier. Before you can spit acidic words, however, Harry tugs your sleeve. “Mr. Sirius,” He says even though you told them all to just call you by your first name, “We’ll get him next time.”

You release the tension in your chest like a steam valve and ruffle his already messy hair, “Yeah, champ, you got that right.”

His toothy grin makes you melt, and you actually enjoy the rest of your dinner, chatting idly with your team. They’re all hilarious and too smart for their own good, you realize excitedly. You were right about this whole counselor thing being kind of sweet.

After dinner, you and Lupin—along with Peter—are recruited to build the campfire for marshmallow roasting. “It’s Gryffindor’s turn to run the nighttime activities,” Evans tells the three of you, “And I’ve sent Frank to get all the s’mores stuff ready. Any of you know anything about building fires? The children will be playing tag with the other houses, so you have some time to get it started.”

You’ve built fires in fireplaces before, so you guess you could probably manage it, but Lupin speaks up first, “I was a scout when I was younger, I’ll handle the fire.” His confidence makes you angry, again, and his eyes sparkle in the fading sunlight. You grind your teeth.

“Jolly good. I’ll leave you lot to it, then. Thanks Rem,” Evans hums happily, bounding off to do whatever it is that heads of house do.

You roll your eyes and flop onto the bench of a picnic table covered with sticks and twigs.

Lupin immediately rolls his sleeves up and sends Peter to grab a bunch of firewood from the lean-to behind the mess hall. His forearms are crisscrossed with thin, jagged scars, and it makes your breath catch in your throat. If he notices you staring, he doesn’t say anything. He steps into the firepit and kicks around the old ashes, and you watch him curiously, wondering what the hell playing in the dirt has to do with building a new fire.

When Peter returns, Lupin starts stacking the logs in a little pyramid as he tells Peter to go collect dry leaves. It’s a strange sight. Why is he trying to make a triangular fire?

It takes a while for Lupin to be satisfied with the arrangement, but once he is, he saunters over to where you’re seated at your picnic table. He plops down beside you and immediately starts digging through the pile of sticks and twigs, selecting a few and resting them on his denim-clad lap. He uses his fingers to split some of the larger sticks and you try not to watch the muscles in his arms dance as he does so.

If you don’t do something distracting right this instant, you’ll end up staring at him all night, so you follow his lead and start splitting sticks. You don’t miss the small smile tugging at his pink lips.

And if you feel squishy because of it, well, that’s your prerogative.

Once you’ve got a reasonably sized pile of tinder and kindling, he grins at you completely unsarcastically and scoops it all up to dump into the middle of his wood pyramid. Peter shows up with an armful of dry leaves and Lupin blithely tosses those in as well. You sit there, blindsided by how good it felt to see some genuine emotion from him that _wasn’t_ haughty disinterest.

He pulls a silver lighter from his pocket and lights a few of the leaves. He has to blow on the infant flame for a bit before it really starts to catch, but you won’t complain about how good of an excuse to stare at his mouth it was.

Soon enough, there’s a roaring fire crackling in the pit, and Lupin looks very proud of himself. His tawny hair is golden in the dancing light of the fire, and his eyes are pools of melted amber when he meets your gaze. He doesn’t catch your eye to gloat, though, as you thought he might. He just nods at you in gratitude. It floors you a bit—no one has ever really been grateful for your effort, besides James, and that’s only some of the time.

The kids make s’mores and tell scary stories, and you and Lupin sit side-by-side at that picnic table, munching on chips and chocolate that you snuck from under Evans’ nose. You thought Lupin would rat you out when he noticed, but he just smiled and held out his hand for a piece.

When you’re in the shower that night, you can’t stop thinking about Lupin’s flexing arms and burning eyes, and you’re ashamed when you come with his name on your lips.

You slip into your cabin and climb straight into bed. Lupin looks to be asleep already, with his back to you, covers pulled up over his shoulders, thank God. It suits you just fine, because you’re not sure what you would’ve done had he looked at you with those eyes of his.

Sleep comes quickly in the humid night, and you have hazy dreams of wide hands and tawny hair.

The first two weeks of camp pass in such a manner, with long days of fun and sun, and quiet nights of snacks and relaxation. Lupin has somehow managed to win two more challenges than you, which makes you angry. Or, well, you guess it should. You find that you don’t care as much as time goes by. You’re just enjoying being with the kids and being away from your house, though you do find yourself worrying about Regulus a _lot_.

How is he without you? Is he doing better without you? You want him to be okay, but you also don’t want him to outgrow you, as silly (or maybe petulant) as that sounds. You still think fondly of the days he’d grab the back of your robes and follow you around like a diligent puppy, sniffling all the way.

Lupin wakes you up one morning, shaking your shoulder a little rougher than you think is necessary, and you squint at him. He’s wearing a tee shirt and boxers, and you can’t help but look at as much skin as you can before he notices.

His thighs look big enough to crush your head like a grape.

“C’mon, Black, get up. We’ll be late,” He rasps, deep voice husky with sleep, and you swallow thickly. This guy’s gonna be the death of you.

Once you adjust yourself in your PJ pants and your morning wood goes down a bit, you regretfully climb out of bed and follow him into the bathroom.  The two of you stand at adjacent sinks and brush your teeth without making eye contact. When you look down, you realize just how prominent your boner still is, and you realize that Lupin is also surreptitiously eyeing it.

You hum smugly to yourself and his eyes snap up to meet yours. You grin at him and he flips you off, spitting aggressively into the sink and almost stomping into a stall.

Stepping into the stall next to his, you figure that if your morning wood hasn’t gone down by now, you’ll have to do something about it if you want to have breakfast with the kids. It’s still too early for any of them to be up, counselors are supposed to have a morning meeting at 7:15, so you don’t feel too bad about doing it in here. You jerk yourself quick and hard, but don’t manage to fully stifle your groan when you come. Pressing your ear against the wall between your stall and Lupin’s, you realize he’s doing the same thing, and you can hear his heavy pants and muffled grunts through the thin wood.

Breakfast is kind of awkward, but you do your best to ignore Lupin. Your kids are all chattering to you and one another, trying to guess the day’s activities, and you nod and hum along as best you can.

God, you’ll hear his last groan in your dreams.

The first activity of the day is an extravagant scavenger hunt. The heads of house set it up while everyone is eating, and your kids are so excited they’re almost tripping over themselves to get outside. Each clue is a riddle, too, so it takes the kids all morning to finish up. Everyone reconvenes at lunch to eat and score each team.

Dumbledore’s Army wins by a wide margin. You were told counselors weren’t allowed to tell the kids the answers to the riddles, so your first thought is that Lupin cheated. Harry shares your sentiment, being the first on to say it out loud, and so do Parvati and Katie. Dean and Lavender don’t really care about winning, so they just focus on eating their fruit cups. Ron says, “I’d agree, Harry, but Hermione is on their team. She went to the same primary school as me, and she’s the smartest person I’ve ever met. She does riddles for  _fun_.”

You’re relieved to find out he didn’t cheat, though you don’t know why.

The Marauders come in second place, of course, but you’re still annoyed about it. Lupin’s mischievous eyes and smug grin make you grip your plastic spoon so hard you break it.

After lunch, you help the other counselors clear off the tables and set up the art supplies for the kids to decorate their paper kites. This one isn’t really a competition, so you’ll have to wait to get your revenge on Lupin. You spend your afternoon helping your kids pick colors and designs, and once you sketch a pattern onto Harry’s kite and it comes out looking awesome, all of them clamber for you to draw on their kites.

It’s fun, being with these kids.

Once everyone is finished, you take the kites outside, relaxing under the shade of a tall tree to watch the kids fly them very poorly. You have to get up a few times to help Parvati and Dean get theirs out of trees, and when you come back the fifth time, Lupin is sprawled out beneath the tree as well, hands folded behind his head and his eyes turned skyward. He raises a challenging eyebrow at you when you approach, but you roll your eyes—you’re feeling too good to get into it with him. You sit your ass down and lean against the trunk.

The silence is actually comfortable between the two of you, which is decidedly strange. You won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, though, so you accept it heartily.

“Good group of kids we got here,” He says suddenly, lazily opening one eye to gaze up at you without moving his head.

You try to keep the fond smile off your face, but you can’t, so you give up entirely and just make sure you’re still looking at the kids while you grin, “Yeah, they’re great. Such clever little bastards, and funny, too.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” He chuckles, eyes sliding shut once more, “You’re pretty good with them. Didn’t think you would be.”

“I have a younger brother. He’s only a few years younger but I remember when he was a kid, so this is like… being a big brother. And there’s six of them instead of just the one.”

He hums thoughtfully, “That’s a good way to think about it. I have a few younger cousins, so I’m used to kids being around all the time, this isn’t much different than being with them. It’s nice that they’re older, though—this lot can be reasoned with.”

You laugh before you realize you’re laughing, “Yeah, but that also means they can reason against you.”

“Touché. Some of mine are quick as a whip. They talk circles around me without me realizing until it’s too late.”

“Oh, how the mighty fall.”

“Come off it,” He says as he laughs a deep, sonorous laugh that makes your heart skip a beat, “I’m sure they do the same thing to you.”

You grin and shake your head, admitting, “Of course they do. I don’t stand a chance.”

The two of you end up talking all afternoon, and you realize that he’s actually a really cool guy under all the bullshit. He’s not arrogant like you thought, just competitive and playful, and you find yourself watching his lips _way_ more than you should. It turns out that the two of you have a lot of the same interests, too, and during dinner you sit together to talk about The Hobbit and Dune and Star Trek.

That night, Hufflepuff is in charge of the fire and the s’mores, so you and the other Gryffindor counsellors have to come up with a way to entertain your kids. Lupin suggests four square and the kids go nuts for it, and you say that you’ll play freeze tag with anyone who gets eliminated, so they don’t have to stand around and watch the other kids have fun. Lupin shoots you a grateful nod and you nod back.

Lupin is yelling the four square prompts, and more than once you get tagged because you got distracted by his honeyed voice. You wonder if they’ve noticed and are using it against you.

Running around makes you tired, so as soon as the kids are happily munching on s’mores, you collapse onto the bench of your picnic table from the first night. You pillow your head on your folded arms and close your eyes, happily listening to the chatter and laughter of the children as they eat.

Lupin joins you at the table once again, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s warm and nice.

You go to bed that night with thoughts of amber eyes and quirked lips.

The third day of your third week is special, as that’s the first time the children go to the lake, and you’re just as excited as they are. There’s a canoe relay race, which your team wins by a longshot, of course. You give your kids big hugs when they make it back to shore, and make sure they all reapply sunscreen and sit in the shade with popsicles to cool off.

This much sun isn’t good for anyone, especially not kids, so you keep a close eye on them.

When you go to gloat to Lupin, though, your words get stuck in your throat like tar, heavy and viscous as they clog your lungs. He’s in nothing but tight board shorts and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from saying anything lewd. They’re shorter than normal swim trunks, so you can see some of his thick golden thighs, and you drool a little. His shoulders are broad, and his chest is dusted with light hair, and his entire body is crisscrossed with those jagged scars, and god, you just want to eat him up. You clear your throat self-consciously.

He notices you, then, and he purses his lips. You thank whatever gods there are or aren’t for the fact that you’re wearing reflective sunglasses, so he can’t tell where you’re looking. Holy shit, you can even see the outline of his  _flaccid_  dick through those little shorts. Fuck.

“Come to gloat, have you?” He guesses dryly, resting his hands on his hips, fingers landing near the V that leads down to his apparently  _enormous_  wang. Maybe if you call it something un-sexy, you’ll have a better time suppressing your blooming hard-on.

You shake your head, trying to clear the horny thoughts away, “No. Just wondering if you, uh…” You pause, floundering, panicking about your swelling member, “Wanted to go for a swim?” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realize you’ve made a terrible mistake—if you can barely handle looking at him now, dry and annoyed, imagine how it’ll be once he’s  _dripping wet_ _and_ _glistening_.

He grins at you, luxuriously stretches his back, and nods, “Alright. Race you.” And he takes off toward the little pier that leads into the lake. Your brain glitches out and gives you a blue screen of death when it tries to process his absolutely  _sensuous_ stretch. Did he do that on purpose?

You swear under your breath and chase after him, haphazardly tossing your sunglasses at an empty table, groaning internally when he jumps off the dock way before you can. He’ll be smug about this, you just know it. Git.

Diving in after him, you’re surprised when he splashes you once you come up for air. He’s howling with laughter and you grin, splashing him back with all your might, and it soon evolves into a full-blown splash war. The two of you are guffawing flailing like children, and it’s more fun than you’ve had all summer. Which is saying something because this has been the best summer of your entire life.

You both grow tired after a few minutes of vigorous arm waves, and the two of you float out towards the middle of the small lake, basking in the sun you hated a few weeks ago. Lupin is floating somewhere nearby, and you can hear his humming through the water. It’s an incredible sound.

Evans starts yelling from the pier about something or other—you can’t tell while your ears are underwater—so you nudge Lupin to get him to find out what she wants. You can feel his reluctant grunt reverberate through the water. He lifts his head above the water line, listens for a few seconds, then sighs heavily before lightly smacking your forehead.

“What is it?” You groan, shaking your head to dislodge any water that gets any funny ideas about staying in your ears.

He chuckles in a way that you’d like to describe as fond, but shouldn’t, “She says our kids have started throwing rocks at each other. We better get that sorted out.”

“Little gits. I wonder why they’re fighting.”

“They probably picked up on our not-so-friendly competition and thought themselves in a war. Kids are perceptive like that.”

“Shit, we’d better set ‘em straight, then.”

The two of you emerge from the lake exactly as dripping wet as you feared, but luckily you have more important things to worry about than the water traveling down golden abs or the wet fabric clinging to enormous thighs. You do a bad job of not staring at his bottom as he jogs ahead of you.

As it turns out, the kids were fighting because Ron and Harry were making fun of Neville’s stutter and Hermione threw a rock at them in retaliation. You scold your boys for bullying, and Lupin scolds Hermione for escalating, and together you lecture your kids about not throwing rocks. It’s a team effort that makes you feel way squishier than you’re comfortable with.

A month into camp, which is halfway through already, holy shit, you realize how much you’re actually gonna miss this. You’re having fun every day with a bunch of awesome kids, you haven’t had a single one of your usual nightmares, and you get to gaze upon the beauty that is Remus Lupin without him glaring at you. Sometimes he even _smiles_ at you. Maybe that will carry on into seventh year, and you can more fully enjoy James’ fruitless Lily-chasing because you know Lupin will be there, wry smile on his face as he shakes his tawny head. Maybe he’ll even be your friend.

The first night you long for his friendship, the universe smiles on you, and you get your wish.

It’s Slytherin’s turn to sort out the fire and s’mores that night, so your kids and Lupin’s kids team up to play dodgeball against Peter’s and Frank’s as the sun dips down toward the horizon. The game gathers enough attention that it turns into a counsellor vs counsellor death match, with all of Gryffindor and half the Hufflepuff counsellors teaming up against all of Ravenclaw and the other half of Hufflepuff.

The kids scream and cheer in support as their chaperones duke it out, pretending to coach their individual team leader like they’re in a professional boxing match and not a casual game of dodgeball. You work your ass off, ducking and weaving and flinging balls every which way, and it pays off when you’re the last one standing and you knock out the last two Ravenclaw with a rebounding ball.

Your kids swarm you, hugging you and climbing all over you as you laugh and collapse into the soft grass. They pet your hair and tell you they’re proud of you, and you gather them all up in your arms, humming happily as they try to wriggle from your grip.

They eventually leave you alone once the fire’s roaring and they can make s’mores, but you stay where you are, staring up at the night sky. The stars are plentiful and beautiful, spread out across the endless sky like the myriad freckles you noticed were spattered across Lupin’s nose.

God, you’ve got it  _so_   _bad_. It’s embarrassing.

As if he sensed that you were thinking sappy thoughts about him, Lupin appears, and he sits cross-legged next to your head. He leans back on his hands to stare at the sky, too.

“Do you think aliens exist?” You ask, growing increasingly nervous in the way-too-comfortable silence. Since when have the two of you been close enough to share truly comfortable silences? It’s stressful to think about.

He hums thoughtfully, “Probably. Isn’t it arrogant to think that we’re the only ones?”

“Yeah, I think so. It’s also crazy to think that out of billions of planets and solar systems out there, the conditions on earth that created life happened only  _once_. It’s lunacy.”

“Exactly. Plus, who’s to say that our type of life is the only life out there? Even here on earth we have organisms that are sulfur-based instead of carbon-based, so it doesn’t make any sense to limit our discussions of alien life to just carbon based. Especially with all that ‘no water means no life’ nonsense, life could’ve evolved from anywhere, but we just assume that our form of life is the only one. Mankind is arrogant to an impossible degree.”

The two of you philosophize late into the night, not stopping even while showering in adjacent stalls or changing before bed. His mind works a lot like yours does, which is surprising, but also relieving. Even James doesn’t click with you the way Lupin does.

The last thing he says to you before you both slide into bed is, “By the way, we’re friends now, you can call me Remus. Hearing you call me ‘Lupin’ all the time makes me think I’m in trouble.”

“You? Trouble? Hell would freeze over,” You tease, grinning contentedly when he laughs into his pillow, “And you can call me Sirius, then. Calling me Black makes me think you’re gonna sue me.”

You think he has some retort about you being used to that, but he just hums sleepily, and it makes you want to kiss his hair and curl up with him.

Sleep finds you easily that night, and you dream of autumn and jumpers and sun-bleached hair.

Six weeks into camp, you and Remus are tied. The competition has become friendly—affectionate, even—and the kids are having fun with it as well. One day, you have a free afternoon to do whatever you like with your kids, so you and Remus team up to find something of interest. You take them exploring around camp, eventually coming across an old storage shed.

Both you and Remus have curious streaks a mile wide, so you wiggle the door open and nosily investigate its contents. You find a few plastic bats and wiffle balls and hand those off to the kids, which they gladly take to play a pick-up baseball game in the clearing behind the shed, and Remus keeps digging for treasure. He unearths a box of confiscated items, like prank paraphernalia and shirts with curse words on them.

He hauls the box out of the shed, like it weighs nothing, and you once again find yourself struggling to not ogle his flexing arms as he lifts a box. You’re nothing if not consistent.

The two of you rifle through the contraband and find two things of import. One is an unopened pack of 5 whoopee cushions and the other is a gorgeous glass pipe obviously used for smoking weed, both of which make you grin like an idiot.

You show Remus the whoopee cushions and he grins mischievously, telling you to save those for the kids. Of course he said that—you were thinking the exact same thing.

He chuckles when he sees the pipe in your other hand, gently taking it from you to inspect it closely, sniffing inside the bowl. “This is a really good pipe,” He says loftily, “Sucks for whoever got caught with it. Do you want this or can I keep it?”

“Are you going to actually use it?” You ask him teasingly, voice light and fonder than you intended it to be, “Because if you won’t, I will.”

He grins that wolfish grin of his, “Oh, I plan on using it. I was actually gonna use it tonight, actually. Would you like to join me? I usually head down to the lake while you’re in the shower, but we can go together, if you want.”

He impresses you more every day, and every day you feel yourself falling in deeper.

You agree readily, and he smirks knowingly at you and shoves the pipe into his pocket as he stands up. With a glance at your watch, you figure now’s a good time to round up the kids, and you go to do that while he puts everything back inside the shed.

When you show your kids the whoopee cushions, they all squeal excitedly and spend the walk back to the mess hall going back and forth about who to use them on.

“We could do it to those Slytherins who beat us in the sack race,” Remus’ kid Seamus suggests, “They cheated!”

Ron laughs, “How can you cheat in a sack race, Seamus?”

“I don’t know, but they did it!”

A lot of ideas get tossed around but none of them stick, until Neville shyly mumbles, “What about the heads of house? There’s four of them and five whoopee cushions so it would work.”

“And, if we do all four of them, they’ll never know it was us!” You tell them playfully, laughing when their eyes sparkle and Remus snorts derisively beside you. You know you shouldn’t be encouraging them, but you miss being a kid. The prank comes together swimmingly, and you feel like you’re in secondary school with James all over again, snickering conspiratorially as you plan mischief.

The children create a distraction outside the mess hall by grabbing sticks and waging war on all the other students, screaming and sword fighting and swashbuckling as the heads of house try to control them. You and Remus slip inside, place the four whoopee cushions, and sneak back out unnoticed. Remus gives Neville and Harry a surreptitious thumbs up and they soon declare the war won by the Order of the Phoenix, the name they came up with for when the Marauders and Dumbledore’s Army team up.

It’s honestly really cute.

When the heads of house sit down, and the resulting fart sounds echo throughout the mess hall, Evans is on her feet in a second, demanding to know who is responsible. All the kids are cackling, some laughing so hard they almost choke on their asparagus.

As soon as her narrowed eyes reach Peter, he quickly stands up and point at you and Remus, who are both innocently eating your burgers. “I saw those two sneak in here as soon as their kids started that fight outside,” He warbles, and you have to resist the urge to throttle him. What a little rat.

Evans rounds on the two of you, dragging you both outside by your ears and laying into you with reckless abandon. You don’t pay much attention to her scolding, and neither does Remus, because you’re both quite used to her tirades. There’s a secret to dealing with Lily Evans.

All you have to do is wait for her to finish, and then apologize.

She takes ten points from Gryffindor and storms off in the direction of the counsellor cabins. You look at Remus, he shrugs, you shrug back, and you both go back inside to finish your dinner. Your kids are all eyeing the two of you, and they release a collective sigh of relief when you both grin at them and shoot them two thumbs up.

That night, you and Remus sneak down to the lake to partake in some choice weed, curling up in the grass under a large tree. You pass the pipe back and forth and tell stories about pranks you’ve pulled, and you’re shocked to learn Remus is responsible for some of the most infamous Hogwarts pranks.

No one ever figured out who spray painted the founders’ statues rainbow, but now you know, and you’re suitably impressed.

You sleep well that night, with your limbs light and your thoughts filled with lips wrapped around the glass of a pipe.

After what feels like no time at all, there’s only a week left of camp. The impending end makes you jittery, and Remus (of course) notices as the pair of you are brushing your teeth, waiting until you spit before saying anything.

“Sirius,” He hums, voice still husky from sleep, “What’s the matter with you? You’re so wound up you look like you’re ‘bout to burst.”

You sigh and run your hands through your hair in a vain attempt to resuscitate it, “I don’t know. I just… Camp’s almost over. I know this was supposed to be a punishment, but I actually like it here, and I’m not sure what things’ll be like when I go home. I’m just being stupid, I guess. I’ll get over it.”

“You’re not being stupid. You told me what your family is like—I wouldn’t want to go home to that either. Is there anywhere else you can stay? With James, maybe?”

Now _there’s_ one hell of an idea. Why haven’t you ever thought of that before? “Holy shit, that’s brilliant, Remus! I’d never even thought of just… leaving. I have to make a call! Oh, God, Remus, I could kiss you!” You enthuse brightly, now jittering with excitement, and you surprise even yourself when you actually lean over and kiss Remus right on the mouth.

You’re even more surprised when you try to pull away and suddenly Remus’ hand is on the back of your head, keeping your lips pressed together. You briefly wonder if you’ve died and gone to Heaven. An insistent tongue swiping your lower lip drags you out of that reverie and into the extremely heated kiss, and you groan in the back of your throat as you put everything you have into making out with the guy you’ve been mooning over for longer than you’d care to admit.

His hands are fanning through your hair as you passionately kiss him back, eyes rolling back when he gently tugs a handful, snaking your arms around his neck to keep him attached to you. He pulls back, glowing amber eyes meeting yours, and growls, “God, I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“Not as long as me,” You say automatically, grinning when he rolls his eyes affectionately.

Frank shuffles into the bathroom and the two of you gracefully break apart, Remus pretending to have been fixing your hair for you. It seems a wasted effort when Frank just slinks into a stall without even bothering to open his eyes. Lazy bastard.

The rest of the day is filled with surreptitious ogling and fleeting touches and suggestive winks, with equal amounts coming from both parties. It’s lighthearted and fun, and you enjoy it more than you probably should, what with the whole ‘getting caught could get us expelled’ thing. You’ve already gone through your ‘oh no, am I gay, am I going to hell’ thing, so you try not to think about the potential consequences too much—if you don’t get caught with Remus now, you’ll just be caught with another bloke later.

And, as you ogle Remus’ ass through his running shorts, you realize he’s totally worth it.

During lunch, you excuse yourself to the small office at the back of the mess hall to phone James. Remus was onto something when he said you should stay with James, as things haven’t been the same since your parents caught you kissing that boy who lives down the street, and you know if you go back after that you might not make it back to uni. You stayed with them this long after farther education because they were paying your tuition, but now that Uncle Alphard died recently and left you everything, you don’t need their blood money anymore. Hell, you’ll even ask Reg to come along.

James picks up on the third ring. “’Ello?” He greets hesitantly, and just the sound of your best mate’s voice is enough to bring a huge grin to your face, making your cheeks hurt from all the smiling you’ve been doing today. Oh, happiness will be the death of you, you swear.

“Hey, mate, it’s me. Can I ask you something important?”

“Oh, hey Sirius! Yeah, course, you know you always can.”

“I… can’t go back to my parents’ house this summer. Or at all, really, but especially not this summer. They were right nasty to me when I… left for camp. I won’t survive to the end of the month.”

“Understood. Let me ask my parents, right? Stay on the line, I’ll be back soon, mate.”

Wondering what you did to deserve such an understand best mate, you hum your assent and sigh as you hear James’ footsteps recede over the line, echoing in the large corridors of his manor. You know his parents love you, but you wonder if they love you enough for this. Anxiety fills your chest and you chew on your nails as you listen to the silence oozing from the receiver.

Shuffling papers around on the desk only slightly distracts you from your nervousness, but you continue to do it anyway, now intent on making Evans’ paper-filing a little more difficult for her when she comes back in here. That’s what she gets for yelling at you. You’re so busy grumbling you almost miss the approaching footsteps coming from the other line.

“Sirius?” James singsongs into the phone, “You there, mate?”

“Yeah, I’m still here. What’d your folks say?”

“Oh, well, they said you better pack your shit.”

“What?”

“Because you’re moving into the Potter house!”

“Holy shit, are you serious?”

“No, I’m James, I thought  _you_ were Sirius.”

“C’mon, you tosser. Don’t be like that.”

“Of course I’m serious, mate, you could move in literally tomorrow if you wanted to! When does this camp of yours end?”

The two of you go back and forth with dates and transportation arrangements and when you hang up you can’t keep the big goofy grin off your face, so you don’t even bother to try. Holy shit, you’re going to move in with your best mate in the entire fucking world! You won’t have to see your parents ever again once you get all your stuff! This is a dream come true, and you pinch yourself a few times to make sure you aren’t dreaming.

You’re beaming when you step back into the main room and plop down next to Remus, digging in to the food he saved for you, grinning even more when he affectionately nudges your shoulder and tells you to eat slower before you choke.

“It went well, I take it,” He whispers smugly, lips almost brushing your ear, “Congrats.”

The breathes skating across the shell of your ear make you flush a bit, and you tactfully lean away from him to preserve your shame, answering, “Yeah, he said I can move in with him as soon as we’re done with camp. I’m so fucking excited I can’t stand it.”

“Did you just say ‘fuck,’ Sirius?” Ron asks loudly, drawing the appalled yet intrigued attention of all of the Order of the Phoenix. Their wide eyes make you think of circling vultures, and you gulp.

Remus laughs his deep, rumbling laugh, “He sure did. You guys gotta keep it quiet, though, otherwise we’ll lose house points. We’re winning right now—you don’t want to be the ones to mess that up, do you? Understand?” Damn, he’s so clever when it comes to these kids, you think you might be in love.

The kids all nod solemnly and you and Remus laugh, leaning your heads together as you admire your teams like proud parents.

You have to wait until after s’mores time to get Remus alone, but when you do, you don’t waste a second. You drag him into your cabin and he happily follows, pushing you against the wall as he claims your lips once more. His hands wander and so do yours, and you come within a few seconds of each other, still pressed up against the rigid wooden wall.

He’s panting against your lips. “Remus,” You hum deep in your throat, loving the way his name rolls off your tongue, “I think I really like you.”

He chuckles softly into your mouth, kissing your cheek and nuzzling your neck, “I think I really like you too, Sirius.”

“I… I don’t want this to just be physical. I know that’s what I’m known for and all, but I… I like you. I want to try this out. I want to try  _us_ out.”

“Yeah? You’d be okay dating a bloke that’s taller than you and better at egg racing?”

You lightly smack his chest, unable to stop the laughter bubbling from your lungs, “Only if you’re okay dating a bloke that’s prettier than you and better at volleyball.”

“Hmn,” He hums, burying his face in your hair, pretending to think intensely about it, “I suppose my ego can take the hit.”

“Well then, Remus Lupin, would you like to be my boyfriend?”

“Why, of course, Sirius Black, I would  _love_ to be your boyfriend.”

The two of you fall asleep in his bed, his arms wrapped around you, and for once in your life you feel good about the future.

Gryffindor wins the house cup and is rewarded with an ice cream party on the last night of camp, and you eat so much ice cream you make yourself sick. Remus gives you his phone number, and you promise you’ll tell him yours as soon as you move in and can have your own landline again, and he grins wolfishly when he tells you to call him.

James goes with you to get your stuff from Grimmauld place, and defends you from your mother’s acidic words and your father’s flung shoes, and soon enough you’re moved in at the Potter Manor. Regulus decides to stay until he finishes farther education, and then will move into the flat you’ll get after graduation, and you hug him in the foyer of the house you both grew up in.

Fleamont and Euphemia greet you warmly and fondly, and you find yourself on the verge of tears when they tell you they love you.

You quickly find an empty bedroom with a landline and claim it as your own, your first order of business being calling Remus and giving him the number. He doesn’t answer, but you diligently leave a message, telling him that you’re eagerly awaiting his return call.

The summer finishes in bliss, with you and Remus chatting regularly on the phone, and you and James spending your days exploring town and getting into trouble. It’s almost over too quickly, but you’ll admit you’re actually excited to go back to school. When Junior year starts, you have your boyfriend and your best friend by your side, and there’s nothing else you could possibly ask for.

Well, maybe you could ask for a friend and a boyfriend that  _don’t_  call you Padfoot, because you’re not a dog, god dammit. Just watch—you’ll call them Prongs and Moony and see how they like it.

**Author's Note:**

> im not sure if theyre in the uk or not because im american and i have No Idea how anything works over there... like idk what a form is. i did some cursory research so it should be mostly accurate to uk schooling but idk! i also fucked around with their ages because i wanted to have the golden trio and all them in the story, so sorry if its confusing. the marauders arent their parents, but i havent put any thought into who their actual pareants are...
> 
> moonys scars are from a car accident if anyone is curious! not sure what time period this takes place in, probably the early 80s. whatever yall wanna think, i guess. they still have corded phones and smoke weed all the time, so. thanks for reading! hope yall enjoyed :)


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